


Rags and Bones

by autumndynasty



Category: Princess Tutu
Genre: Gen, Halloween, Horror, What Was I Thinking?, vague and ill-defined terror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-31
Updated: 2012-10-31
Packaged: 2017-11-17 11:59:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/551316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/autumndynasty/pseuds/autumndynasty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The oldest book in the Library lives on the top shelf of the tallest bookcase at the back of the library, covered in the dust of decades past. It probably didn’t deserve to be forgotten, once upon a time. But it has been forgotten all the same.</p>
<p>That’s how it begins; Once Upon a Time. It doesn’t end with ‘happily ever after’ but you can’t have everything.</p>
<p>Then one day, the old book is, unfortunately, found once more.</p>
<p>A ghost story for Winter 2012.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rags and Bones

**Author's Note:**

> I originally posted this on tumblr, running over 1st-7th Oct, now collected here for Halloween. I fancied writing about nightmares, hauntings and horror without gore or existential angst. Poor Fakir and Ahiru made good targets!
> 
> Set, as I tend to do, in a nebulous time period crowbarred into 'season 2'. So uh...vague **spoilers** for that season?

The oldest book in the Library is one that has been there longer than even Mrs Pig, the aging porcine librarian, can remember. It lives on the top shelf of the tallest bookcase at the back of the library, covered in the dust of decades past. She only knows the book is there because she knows every shelf and she leaves well alone.

It probably didn’t deserve to be forgotten, once upon a time. But it has been forgotten all the same.

That’s how it begins; Once Upon a Time. It doesn’t end with ‘happily ever after’ but you can’t have everything.

Then one day, the old book is, unfortunately, found once more.

———

Ahiru wobbles a little on the wooden ladder, caught between a squawk and a sneeze.

“Careful, idiot!” Down below, Fakir drops his own books to grab the bottom of the ladder and steadies it. Ahiru grins back, looking abashed. She grabs a couple of dusty old books from the top shelf and climbs down.

“Sorry, Fakir. The dust got up my nose!” she says. Fakir just shakes his head as he bends to pick up his pile of books from where they fell; no point telling her to be careful next time. It goes in one ear and out the other.

“Did you find anything promising?” he asks instead and Ahiru glances at each of the book covers in her hands.

“The Snow Maiden. The Seven Swans in the Tower. And… ugh.” Ahiru wrinkles her nose at the last one, a large and flat book covered in thick dust. Putting down the other two, she rubs at the cover with a one sleeve as Fakir peers over her shoulder.

“The Rag and Bone Man?” he reads. The cover is plain. No embossing aside from the title in straight, plain letters. “I think I remember this one.”

“What happens in it?”

“Now that you ask…I’m not really sure. It just…” Fakir trails off, reaching out to brush his fingers along the title. “It just seems familiar, I guess.”

“Do you want to take this one?” Ahiru offers. “I could look at some of yours?”

“No, it’s okay,” he says and stuffs the hand in his pocket firmly. “I’ll just take the ones I’ve got. Look, it’s getting late. I’ll see you tomorrow morning, okay? Before the morning bell?”

“Okay,” Ahiru says, though Fakir has already beat a retreat. Odd. What just happened?

She glances over at the clock and nearly quacks at the time. Already 11pm! It’s amazing they hadn’t been ushered out a long time ago (Mrs Pig is asleep at her post, it turns out). Ahiru hastily gathers up her books into a bag and tiptoes out into the night.

Outside, a fine drizzle of rain has well and truly settled in for the night. Ahiru pulls awkwardly at her jacket, wishing it was thicker. She’s a duck, she doesn’t mind getting wet, yet she hesitates on the top step, still covered by the library porch roof.

The hanging porch light wavers the wind. It hums.

Maybe she should just have a quick look at the books before she has to run through the rain with them. Yes, good idea. She reaches into the bag and pulls out The Rag and Bone Man. A tale about a peddler didn’t seem like it was going to be very useful for understanding what was going on in their peculiar town but then…you never knew.

Ahiru opens the book to the middle and stared. It’s completely blank. How weird. She flicks the pages through a thumb and forefinger. Every page is blank. A smell lingers in the air, like dead leaves. Ahiru presses her nose to the pages. It’s a familiar smell. Like the lake after it’s rained for a week, or the old bandstand near the forest.

She would have to tell Fakir. Tell him… what, again? Oh yes, blank pages. He’d know why.

The misting rain still blankets the town and shows no sign of letting up. With a sigh, Ahiru shoves the book in her bag and hops down the steps. She pauses at the bottom to look back at the closed library doors, shakes her head and begins her long jog back to the dormitory.

She could have sworn she heard those doors open.

\------

Fakir’s eyes snap open on the second soft knock, wide awake by the third.

“Fakir?” Ahiru’s anxious voice, too loud to be a real whisper, drifts through the door. Fakir glances over at Mytho’s still form. Good, still asleep. Before the knocking can start again, he drags himself out of bed and opens the door, then closes it behind him, joining his nervous guest in the hall.

And nervous, she is. Ahiru is rarely still but this morning she’s plain twitchy. Her eyes periodically dart down the corridor and back to Fakir’s face. Fakir rubs at the bridge of his nose. It’s too early for this.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. Ahiru purses her lips, glancing down the corridor again.

“I’m not sure,” she begins. Fakir rolls his eyes and turns to go. “No, wait. Fakir, it’s about the book we found last week.”

“The Rag and Bone Man?”

“Yes. Well. Words have started to appear.” Ahiru rummages in her bag and pulls out the old book. Fakir takes it and opens the fragile hardback cover to the first page.

“Could this be one of Drosselmeyer’s special books?” he wonders aloud.

“Just read it,” Ahiru hisses and it’s so unlike the gentle girl he looks up, staring hard. He doesn’t like what he sees. Over the last week, Ahiru had been looking increasingly tired and frayed around the edges. It’s lucky Princess Tutu hadn’t been needed.

“Sorry, it’s just—well. You’ll see,” she says, apologetically. Fakir hums thoughtfully, filing away the outburst for later and looks down at the page.

_“Once Upon a Time, in a kingdom beyond the sea, there was a school. It was the largest school the land had ever seen and in it lived many students. These students studied many different arts and lived in peace and happiness, unknowing of the dark depths that lay beneath the school,”_ he read. “That’s all that appeared?”

“Yes and—Fakir, I know it sounds like more of Drosselmeyer’s writing but it’s just so strange and it’s not beneath the school,” she says, biting her lip. Her eyes stay fixed on the door at the end of the hall.

“Wait, what are you talking about?” Fakir flicks through the pages of The Rag and Bone Man. The other pages are still blank and he can’t see anything that much more troublesome than their current situation.

“The story! It’s about us, I know it is. And the dark thing. I think I’ve—well, I haven’t seen it but I heard it. It’s not the Raven, either.” Ahiru pulls at her braid in frustration.

“Keep your voice down; Mytho’s asleep. So this isn’t the Raven but it’s us. And I don’t think even Drosselmeyer would write two stories at the same time about the same ‘characters’.” He wants to spit the last word but restrains himself.

“But if it’s just a story, why is it magical and why is it about us?” Ahiru says.

“More importantly, Ahiru, what is this ‘dark thing’? What’s going on?” Ahiru hesitates again and Fakir brings a hand up to her cheek, forcing the girl to look back at him. “What’re you afraid of?”

“It sounds really weird when you say it out loud,” Ahiru mumbles but now she’s looking at him again, her gaze is entirely fixed. Like she’s scared to look away.

“Ahiru,” he sighs.

“Okay, okay. I was up last night reading with Lamp and I heard a noise out in the hall. I didn’t know why anyone would be up so late and I thought, what if it’s someone being possessed again, so I looked and I didn’t see anyone at all. I went back to bed but then I heard it again and the book fell of the windowsill and—“

“Ahiru, breathe. The book—?”

“The Rag and Bone Man. It just kind of fell off the windowsill by itself. And I could still hear the shuffling outside. This time I went out to look with Lamp and that’s when I saw something weird. Like a shadow. It was creeping along the wall. But there was nobody there and I could still hear clothing moving and really quiet, clumping footsteps. Shump, shump, shump.” Ahiru grips Fakir’s hand that still rests on her cheek. She grips hard and closes her eyes.

“I couldn’t stop staring at the door all night.”

\---------

It’s just getting worse.

Ahiru should never have picked out that book in the library two weeks ago. But then, considering this town, perhaps she never had a choice.

Since the spidery black words began to appear, spreading over the days to cover every page, she’s slept less and less. Each night, she lights her friend Lamp and stares at the door. It’s not that Ahiru wants to, it’s that she can’t stop looking, can’t tear her eyes away. Just in case. And as she stares, perhaps she can see shadows darting around, in the gap beneath the only barrier she has.

Ahiru doesn’t even know what it is. And always, even in a crowd and at the edge of her hearing, a rustle of clothing and thumping of hard footsteps.

The only mercy is that it’s summer now. Spring showers have swept away winter, bringing longer days and warmer weather. She even managed to ignore the new problem for a while and get somewhere with the Raven issues.

She still hasn’t read the book though. She doesn’t dare and she refuses to give it to Fakir (who was predictably outraged).

Ahiru has a few hours to kill before afternoon class and realises it’s a perfect time to stretch her legs and get out of the claustrophobic school grounds for a while. Enjoying the feeling of the sun on her face, she heads out of the gates and into the woods, wandering aimlessly amid the trees.

A while later, she stumbles on the duck pond, her duck pond, and it makes her smile. Fancy that, a duck doing ballet and talking to royalty. And trying to work things out that are too much for her bird brain to follow.

She rubs her at her eyes and yawns. Well, that’s what Fakir is for. And that slightly creepy writer-guy.

And she’s just so tired. There’s only so many times Mr Cat is going to let her off the marriage-hook for napping in class.

Ahiru settles down at the edge of the bulrushes, drifting asleep to the sounds of wind blowing through the grass.

—-

She shivers awake. Then she realises and snaps awake, eyes wide.

“But it’s summer,” she whispers.

Gone is the sunshine, the bright and warm afternoon. She’s still by the duck pond but around her, the grass is frozen in sharp spikes. The trees, once full of leaves and the promise of fruit, now skeletal and bare, twist into the white-grey sky. A chill-wind has picked up, blowing drops of light, cold rain.

“What’s going on?” Ahiru exclaims, jumping to her feet. Beneath her, the grass is still summery green. Her voice echoes through the trees. The sound is unnerving in the silent landscape so she treads as lightly as possible on the icy grass, back to the path in the tree-line.

She pauses. The path is deserted. Not even a sparrow or rabbit to be seen. How much time has passed? Something black drips from the tree branches, like oil, never ending.

And that empty pathway. It’s like the door.

Ahiru bites her lip and grasps at her pendant. Princess Tutu wouldn’t be afraid of walking down a woodland path or reading a book that could actually help them (or at least get rid of the new problem. The Rag and Bone Man, who even she realises it must be, though what it wants she doesn’t know).

Princess Tutu is what she needs.

Yet, it won’t work. She’s human – the pendant isn’t broken.

“Come on. Please!” she whispers. “Please work!”

A black shape suddenly flits past in her peripheral vision. It darts between the trees, then the now-familiar rustle and thump.

“Rag and Bone Man?” she calls softly. She still clutches the pendant. Why can’t she change?

Between the trees, a shadow appears again. All around, tree branches shake. Leaves rustle in the wind. Blackness drops from the trees. The figure, at the end of the path now, is completely still. Like it’s in another world.

Ahiru screws her eyes shut. Her legs give way and she sinks to the floor, a marionette with cut strings.

“Please just go away!” she wails.

And just like that, it all does.

Ahiru cracks open one eye and looks about. It’s summer again and she’s alone. A bird lands in front of her on the path and Ahiru covers her face in her hands.

It’s definitely getting worse.

\--------

It’s odd, seeing Fakir sitting on her bed. He seems awkward and out of place (and seems to feel it too), and Ahiru has a suspicion that her school-friends are lurking about somewhere outside her room, trying to listen in.

Fakir clears his throat hesitantly.

“Maybe you can’t become Princess Tutu because the problem really isn’t related to the Raven after-all,” he says. Ahiru shakes her head furiously.

“But we’ve dealt with other stories before and I could change! And Fakir, if this isn’t part of Drosselmeyer’s plan, then how did it get here? How did The Rag and Bone Man book even exist in the first place?”

Inwardly, she wonders where the old writer is and why he hasn’t contacted her in while. Perhaps he’s just enjoying the twist in the tale?

“It still feels familiar,” Fakir muses, turning the book over in his hands. “I’ve no idea why. Have you actually read it yet?”

“I tried,” Ahiru admits, “in the last few days after class. But I keep falling asleep after the first paragraph! I’ve read that paragraph maybe ten times and I’ve no idea what comes next.”

“Well, let’s try now,” Fakir grumbles, rolling his eyes.

He opens the book and begins to read, only to have it slapped out of his hands a moment later.

“Fakir, I’ve got a really bad feeling about it. Please,” Ahiru says, taking the book up herself and clutching it to her chest. “There’s something else.”

“I think you’re getting too deep into this,” Fakir says delicately. “You’re tired as it is, maybe—“

“I saw the Rag and Bone man mentioned in The Snow Maiden yesterday. I was certain I did,” Ahiru interrupts quietly. “I looked again this morning and I couldn’t find it anywhere.”

“You’ve been thinking about it s much, I’m not surprised,” Fakir says. He picks up The Snow Maiden and flicks through idly. “Just give me the book, Ahiru. You’re being an idiot. It might help to split the problem.”

“Maybe it would help to burn it?” Ahiru muses. She can’t stop worrying at her bottom lip.

“Perhaps, but it might also make things worse.”

“How so?”

“What if The Rag and Bone Man is like a box, with all the things you’ve seen coming out of it? If we burn the book, there’s those things will have nowhere to go,” Fakir sighs. “I’ve no idea.” He reaches out and gently pulls at the book in Ahiru’s tight grip.

She looks down at The Rag and Bone Man, reluctant to let it go, even if she’s not sure why. She doesn’t want it, she can’t seem to read it and it’s brought her nothing but fear and unhappiness. The risk of subjecting Fakir to that is a factor but there’s also some lingering sense of attachment there. He tugs and she lets it slide from her fingers, eyes shut.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

“I’ll try and read it. We’ve no idea what The Rag and Bone Man is even about, for goodness’ sake,” Fakir grumbles. He stands resolutely. “This has gone on long enough. We’ve got other things to worry about.”

“Good luck,” Ahiru says simply.

\---------

It’s a couple of days before Ahiru manages to meet up with Fakir again. Things to do, people to rescue, sleep-time to steal.

She finds him in the library.

Hunched over at a desk, amid piles of books and paper scraps, Fakir looks like he’s been there a while. His fingers and shirt sleeves are covered in ink. He’s writing. And he doesn’t look up when Ahiru approaches.

“Fakir? Are you okay?” A silly question maybe but it’s polite to ask. Fakir looks as tired as she feels. “Fakir?”

Ahiru puts a tentative hand on his shoulder and the reaction is sudden. The boy jerks violently, wild eyes jump to her face. And he looks right through her.

“Fakir, what’s wrong?” Ahiru asks, gripping his shoulders.

Fakir’s wide eyes screw shut and when he opens them again, he still looks scared but at least aware. He pulls from Ahiru’s grip, more gently this time, and leans on the desk with his forehead resting in his hands.

“That damn book,” he hisses. “Maybe we should burn it after all.”

“But you said—“

“I know what I said!” he shouts, ignoring the hushes it garners.

“Fakir,” Ahiru says, reproaching. He sighs, lifts his head and sits back. His hands idly shuffle the papers in front of him but it doesn’t hide their shaking.

“Did it at least stop anything for you?”

“Not at all,” Ahiru says, wilting onto the nearest book pile. “I haven’t had a proper sleep in weeks.” She puts on a brave face, a bright smile. “So? Did you manage to read The Rag and Bone Man?”

Fakir just nods.

“So what was it about? What is it? What do we do?” Ahiru asks, each question met with silence. Fakir just stares at the book in question, buried deliberately at the bottom of a pile. “Fakir!” Ahiru smacks a hand on the desk in front of him, startling Fakir from his daze.

“Sorry. Yes, I finished it. It took a lot of starting over but I finished. And I would give anything to forget it. The whole damn thing.” Fakir swipes at the loose papers, sending them spiralling to the floor as he stalks off, muttering under his breath. Ahiru can hear panic in the nonsense as he passes.

She doesn’t dare follow and push for now. If it’s anything like her experiences of the last few weeks, the last thing Fakir needs is to be aggravated over things best forgotten. Ahiru bends to gather up the papers covered in Fakir’s scrawling script.

She pauses to read the top sheet. Summaries, notes, trains of thought. So that’s how he stayed awake. And creative writing? The writing is spiked and heavily spotted with ink. It looks strained, rushed. Ahiru reads the first few lines.

All she thinks is she might vomit. She crumples the paper into a large ball.

Time to get past all this. It’s getting too big now.

\-------

First thing to try is facing it head-on, Ahiru decides. It’s what she wants to try least but Fakir is good for nothing right now and there’s no way she’ll be able to read the book and see what this is all about, beyond what she already knows.

And what she knows is this: the Rag and Bone Man is something made of rags and bones and he’s visible as a shadow. He can be heard in the corridors of her dormitory every night and with disturbing irregularity during the day.

Before it gets truly dark that night, she lights Lamp and huddles in her usual spot at the head of her bed. Her eyes never leave the door. She sits there, more patient than she’s ever been. She waits. And finally, shortly after 11pm chimes on the campus clock, she hears it. The shuffle and thump of rag clothing and bone feet on the wooden hall floor.

Ahiru grips Lamp tightly by the handle and edges quietly to the door. It’s the furthest she’s gotten since that first night weeks ago. A pause and she grips the doorknob.

“Come on, silly duck. It’s a shadow. What can it do?” she whispers to herself. Ahiru looks at Lamp, “You can’t touch shadows, so shadows can’t touch you, right?” She forces a tight smile and opens the door.

There’s nothing. Not a sound. Ahiru swings Lamp around, looks up and down the corridor. Nothing.

“Excuse me?” she calls, voice barely above a whisper. “Rag and Bone man? Hello?” There’s no reply and Ahiru bites her lip, wonders what she should do. She edges forward, fingers lingering on her door.

The door slams behind her, a sharp crack in the silence. Ahiru stifles a shriek, Lamp dropping to the floor as she grabs the doorknob. It won’t move and Ahiru scrambles for Lamp desperately.

A rustle. Ahiru pauses, nails digging into her palms with her fingers curled around Lamp’s handle. She stares into the dark beyond Lamp’s skewed light. Just out of sight, Ahiru hears the familiar footsteps, the dragging of material on the floor. She rises slowly, back to her door and lifts Lamp up.

“Rag and Bone man?” she calls, louder.

Silence.

Ahiru falls backwards as her door suddenly opens. She sprawls on the floor, managing to keep Lamp from smashing. Gasping in surprise, she shuffles back, feet kicking the door closed again and huddles against the nearest wall.

For a long time, all she can hear is her blood rushing in her ears. Her breathing feels harsh.

Eyes fixed on the door, Ahiru reaches out and picks up a piece of paper. She scrunches it up and throws it at The Rag and Bone Man, resting on the windowsill. She leans her head back to rest on the wall, eyes sliding closed at last.

If she can’t stop the intangible, she’ll have to try the tangible.

\---------

In the end, fire eats all things. Especially paper.

Ahiru takes the book out to the forest, stomping resolutely out before dawn and miraculously awake. She’s been up all night. Fakir is a dead-weight behind her, dragged by Ahiru’s hand on his shirt sleeve. He constantly trips behind her, eyes on the book under Ahiru’s arm rather than on where they’re going, and Ahiru is never a picture of grace herself.

At the shore of the duck pond, they frantically and unceremoniously burn The Rag and Bone Man. Nothing untoward happens after. No ethereal lights, no change in weather, no otherworldly shrieks. No shuffle of rags or thump of bone footsteps.

Nothing.

“Did it work?” Ahiru asks. Fakir runs his fingers through the grass and ash.

“No idea,” he mutters. “Have you ever been haunted before?” His voice is rough. Clipped and savage. His hands still shake and Ahiru reaches out to hold them still because it just isn’t right for a knight to be scared.

“We’ll see, I guess,” she says.

“We should have done this sooner,” Fakir says, and Ahiru doesn’t bother to remind him why they waited.

—-

“Rag and Bone man?” Ahiru calls into the dark.

She hears a wordless whisper in her ear. Feels something approach. Bare bone footsteps echo beyond Lamp’s light.

Ahiru runs forward and catches the outline of a shadowy figure on the wall. And then it fades, melting into the light.

It’s not a clear answer but it at least feels like a goodbye.

—-

The end was a little anti-climatic. But sometimes these things just happen.

In the end, they never did find all the answers they sought, moving on to bigger, far brighter and more important things. Fakir found more than Ahiru did, though he certainly found more than he wanted as well.

Who was the Rag and Bone man? What did he want and what kind of threat was he really? Did he ever go?

That’s just the way things go sometimes. Even in fairytales.

In the end, of this tale at least, silence became something real to filled. Eyes linger on doorways, backs never stay turned to darkness. And two young people learned to be a bit more cautious with the power of written words.

**Author's Note:**

> It needs a bit of a re-write really but I wrote it for the Halloween period so I couldn't not put it up on the 31st! I'll try and get a re-rewrite done over November!


End file.
